Expectations
by ebfiddler
Summary: Serenity's new cargo comes with a complication. Drama/Action/Humor/Romance. All Firefly characters. Fourth in series.
1. Chapter 1

Expectations, Part 1

Fourth Story in a series, starting with A Lion's Mouth, Adventures in Sitting, and Sparks Fly.

_Secrets are shared and secrets are kept. Is there really nothing left to see?_

_A/N: Big thanks to all of you who took the time to read and review my other stories. I can't tell you how much reviews energize the writing process. They're like fuel. Rating: All my stories are K+ to T. You will not find detailed descriptions of blood, gore, and sex, but you will find situations appropriate for mature readers, innuendo, implication, and (gasp) swear words. Thanks to my sister for beta reading. My series is set post-BDM, and involves all the regular Firefly characters except Wash and Book :-( . Wash makes a re-appearance in this story. How? you ask. Read and find out!_

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><p>Zoe nodded off in the pilot seat as Serenity sailed through the Black on a re-calculated course from Beaumonde to 尘球 Chén Qíu. Earlier in the voyage, the ship had lost all of her automated navigational systems and taken an unexpected side trip to Hera. The nav sat failure had occurred on Zoe's watch, and the ship had drifted off course on her watch. Although it was clear that the navigational system had been sabotaged, Zoe felt responsible. She had slept through the early warnings. It was just so damn difficult to keep her focus, to keep her eyes open, when she spent so many hours looking into the darkness, within and without. Mal had been lenient on her regarding the Hera incident, confining his reprimand to a single sharp look that signaled his disappointment. Of course, he had been distracted from his duty, too, though Zoe reckoned he had a good reason. Still, she sat up with a start that had an element of guilt in it as Mal entered the bridge.<p>

"Sir, would you mind taking the helm? I know it's my watch, but I just can't seem to keep my eyes open."

Mal indicated it was no problem. "Take a rest, Zoe."

She went down to her bunk, and Mal dismissed the incident from his mind. He sat in the pilot's seat, checked the settings, and looked out into the Black. Soon he was deep in thought.

He stood behind Wash's chair, contemplating the Black, as Wash checked the course settings. He gave a sigh, and Wash turned to him with a curious look.

"Why the long face, Romeo? You're finally in the good graces of the woman of your dreams. You should be happy."

"I am, I'm…I haven't been happier in years," Mal replied. "It's just—I'm puzzled, Wash, you know."

"I don't know, Mal. What do you think, I can get inside your head?" Mal gave Wash the slightest smile. Seemed that _some _people on the crew could get into other people's heads readily enough. "So what's the puzzle?"

Mal sighed again and spoke. "Well, why's she even interested in me? I'm an angry man, broken, poor as dirt, a thief and outcast…"

"And a right selfish bastard in the bargain."

"Yeah. Hey!—but _you're_ not supposed to say it."

"Say it yourself then."

"I'm a right selfish bastard, and I've been mean and angry with her many a time. So why's she tellin' me I'm special?"

Wash's expression radiated _Duh! _in the clearest way imaginable. "Because she loves you?" he offered.

"What can she see in me?"

"You tell me, Mal—_I_ don't see it."

"Well, she's been tellin' me I make her feel special, you know, in bed."

"So what's the problem?"

"Come on, Wash. She's been with hundreds of men—oh, I don't even wanna think about it."

"So why are you?"

"Can't _not_ think about it. Woman's had hundreds of men, and she expects me to believe I do something special for her. Wash, I ain't got no special skills, no special talents, ain't been to no fancy 妓女 jìnǚ Academy," he said with an edge of bitterness. "What can I give her that she ain't had a hundred times over from somebody else?" His voice had thickened.

"Oh, you're a jealous one."

"Guess I am."

"Mal, she's a trained Companion."

"Yes."

"She's been very free with her body."

"Companion don't do it for free, Wash."

"You paid her, then?"

"I should hit you."

"Just try. My point, Mal, is this: she's given her body many times over. But how many times has she given her heart?"

"I don't know," Mal said, quietly.

"Don't you think that could be what she means when she says it's special?"

Mal sighed again. "How can I believe something like that?"

"Mal, this is where you and I differ. If the woman I love tells me I'm good in bed, I don't stand around asking questions."

"Guess I see your point."

"Well, what're you doing now?"

"Sittin' around asking questions," Mal answered into nothingness as he flipped the three check switches, sitting alone on the bridge and staring into the Black.

. . .

He was still feeling low when River relieved him of his watch, and instead of seeking out Inara in her shuttle, he headed back to his own bunk. His gun and holster were slung on the back of the only chair, right in front of the capture of Inara poised on the corner of his desk surrounded by the scarf he'd pilfered from her trunk and the other relics he'd collected. He gave them a glance, sighed again, and removed his suspenders. He had just unbuttoned his shirt when he was startled by the sound of his hatch opening. Someone was climbing down the ladder.

Not just someone. It was Inara. She was dressed in a racy little nightdress that left very little to the imagination, covered by a sheer robe so transparent that it left nothing at all to the imagination. Mal's mouth dropped open and for a moment he was unable to say a word.

"Hello, Mal," she said as she reached the base of the ladder. "May I come in?"

"Looks like you already have."

"I looked around the ship and didn't see you heading toward the shuttle, so I decided to come to _you_ tonight."

"You just walked all around the boat and into my bunk, wearing _that? _Anyone coulda seen you."

Inara was not the least bit concerned. She smiled at him. "I'm not embarrassed about having sex with you, Mal."

Mal was tongue-tied. _She_ might not be, but he was all manner of embarrassed. Not about having sex, about _talking_ about having sex. He just didn't have it in him to speak about intimacy quite so openly, even to his own girlfriend.

"I'm pleased, in fact." Inara smiled again. "_More _than pleased."

"Inara, please, I…I'm glad to see Jayne's up and about again," Mal said quickly, casting for a safe topic. "Man had me scared, gettin' himself blown off the boat, heart stopped and all."

"You and Kaylee saved him."

"Doc saved him. Kaylee and me brought him inside, is all. Simon kept his head and did all the work. I'm startin' to think keeping the Doc and his sister aboard was one of the smarter things I ever done, number of times he's had to keep us all from…" _getting killed_, he couldn't quite add. Wash's death, and Book's, were just still too fresh.

"There's been more call for his services than I ever would have imagined necessary when I first came aboard." She seated herself on the edge of Mal's bed, as she felt she'd been standing long enough.

Mal sat down next to her, also using the bed as a sofa. "I'm sure you had no notion of signing on with such a bunch of brigands. Why ever did you, anyhow?" He shot her a penetrating look.

Now it was Inara's turn to be uncomfortable. She would have gotten up again, had she not just sat down. "Mal, some day maybe I can tell you, but not…"

"Is that why you left? Our boat runnin' too much against the law, breakin' the Alliance's rules, misbehavin'. You don't hold with our lawlessness…"

"That's not it, Mal. Not anymore. I willingly participated in your subversion of the Alliance regime. _I_ fought to buy you the time to send the broadwave about Miranda. Because a government that buries a crime of that magnitude is more criminal than anything I have witnessed here, or even heard of. I used to think the Alliance kept the peace. Now I'm wondering how many lies have been kept secret by the Alliance."

"So you don't so much mind breaking the rules occasionally, yourself."

Before Miranda, Inara had always thought of herself as a person who cherished peace—personal peace and societal peace. Personal peace was achieved only by means of a spiritual journey. She had believed that peace for society in general could be achieved through consensus, order, and the rule of law. She had been raised in the Core to believe that the Alliance provided the most reasonable path to that peace. Miranda had shaken her belief to its deepest foundations. At Miranda, she saw the result of peace taken to its logical extreme, and it was terrible. It sickened her, and left her questioning everything she had believed in. And it left her to confront some of her own decisions head on. "Not…so much," she admitted, quietly. It cost her something to say that out loud.

Mal was relentless. "Did you break the rules when you left House Madrassa? or not until you—"

This was dangerous territory, and she cut him off. "Please, let's not talk about _me_ now. May I ask you—?" she hesitated.

"Fire away," he responded, with all the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad.

"Oh, Mal, I don't want to pry, really, it's just that, sometimes when I think I understand you, what makes you the way you are, you surprise me—I realize I don't know you at all. And I want to."

"Ain't much to it. I'm a loser—"

"Mal—" she objected. As she turned to face him, she caught sight of an interesting collection of objects on his desk.

"—Lost a war, lost a cause, lost my home, lost my family and friends, lost faith, lost everyone and everything what ever meant anything to me…biggest loser I ever heard tell of….I told you before, Inara, all I got is this boat and what's on it. That's my world."

"You didn't lose hope," she said, looking at the picture on the desk.

"Couldn't stop dreaming, I guess."

_And some dreams come true_, she thought. Some of her own certainly had. She contemplated those dreams for a little while. "Did you dream of being a ship's captain, when you were a boy?"

Her change of topic surprised him, but he was not adverse to it. Knew he was a loser, well enough, but didn't mean he wanted to wallow in it. Inara took his hand, gently, and he held hers as he answered the question. "No, actually. Closest I got is I took flying lessons, but I figured I'd be a rancher, like my ma. Or maybe an English teacher."

"An English teacher? Whatever made you—"

"My ma was a teacher. That's what she came to Shadow for in the first place. Then she met my father, and—when he died, left her with a small boy and a large ranch—she never did get back to teaching."

"It was a large ranch, then?"

"Reasonable so. Ma had about forty hired ranch hands to help."

"Were you far from town?" Inara asked, moving closer to Mal.

" 'S all relative. Biggest city on Shadow wouldn't count for much of a town at all in the Core, I reckon. There was a small town about twenty miles away, where I went to school."

"So far! Weren't you lonely, without other children to play with at home?"

"Who said that?" he answered, reaching an arm around Inara's back. "I had all the ranch hands' kids to play with. And the hands themselves—they were my aunts and uncles, grannies and grandpas. I had more family than I could—" He pulled up short. They were all dead now.

"What did you play at?" she asked.

"Well, first we did the chores. 'Cause there's always chores to do at a ranch, the kids don't get no break, soon as they can walk they're planting the garden, learning to tend the animals, learning to ride and help bring in the hay. But when chores were done, there was plenty to play at. Mostly outdoors. We went hiking in the mountains and fishing. Swimming in the brook. And berry picking. Granny MacEachern—she was the head cook—made the best bumbleberry preserves ever tasted, and she made all us kids learn how to cook for a crowd."

"Really?" Inara realized for the first time that, when Mal cooked for Serenity, the food was always just fine, even though he was working with not much besides the standard molded protein.

"In winter, we'd go snowshoeing or cross country skiing. Hank Blodgett, Carr Filkins, Murdoch Harbatkin, Terry Chang, they'd take us out camping sometimes, teach us shooting, tracking, wilderness survival skills."

"Sounds like you were a pretty capable lot," Inara said, snuggling up against Mal's side.

"People on Shadow were pretty independent 'cause we had to be. If we didn't do it ourselves, might never happen at all. Wait for help from the Core, could be starved or dead before it ever arrived." He came to a sudden halt. He blinked, paused, and swallowed before continuing in a much gloomier tone, " 'Course, they're all dead now. Shadow was such an Independent stronghold—everyone I knew threw themselves into the war effort. Alliance tried to teach Shadow a lesson—bombed the planet while I was off fighting. A chance hit on the terraforming station set off a chain reaction—rendered the whole world unfit for life. The place I'm from don't exist anymore."

It took Inara's breath away. She knew Mal was from Shadow. She knew Shadow was destroyed in the war. But to hear him say it was chilling in a way that the bare facts could never express. "You left for war and never went back," she said softly, wrapping her arms around him.

"Can't go back," he said bleakly. "Can't never go back."

_And you can't leave it, either_, she said to herself, as she held him.

. . .

尘球 Chén Qíu was a dusty moon that orbited a gas giant in the Georgia System. Its economic reason for being was that it served as the transshipment point for the terraforming operation in progress on a nearby moon. Tons of terraforming equipment, supplies, and foodstuffs passed through the port, which was right in the middle of the principal town of 尘球 Chén Qíu, a dusty collection of buildings not dignified by any name more elaborate than "Town." The locals claimed that it was only the beginning of the dry season, but that just meant that they could still recollect the last time it had rained. Lots of strange folk passed through Town. Most of them worked on the terraforming, one way or another, or had something to do with supplying or supporting those who did. There were professionals, engineers and expert consultants, skilled laborers, indentured laborers, and—the dirty open secret of the terraforming business—slaves.

Town had a main square, if you could dignify the dusty open area flanked by a few struggling, pathetic acacia trees by that name, and the important businesses in Town surrounded the square. The most conspicuous of these was the 尘球 Chén Qíu headquarters of New Worlds Terraforming Inc., the company in charge of the ongoing terraforming operation. Their building struggled to look shiny and respectable in the clouds of dust and shimmering waves of heat. There were the less pretentious offices of several receiving agents, Beier's General Store (which actually dealt only in terraforming equipment), the professionals' guild headquarters, and the labor union hall. The local branch office of Holden Brothers Interplanetary Shipping occupied a significant portion of one side of the square. Anybody who had seen Holden Brothers' main office on Beaumonde would have realized that the 尘球 Chén Qíu branch had started out with the same shiny standard, though on a smaller scale, but had quickly given up the struggle to look presentable, and settled for being as dusty and colorless as the surrounding landscape. The building was clearly a seething hive of activity nonetheless, and people passed in and out through the doors in a steady stream throughout the business day.

Lots of strange folk passed through Town, and two of them were waiting underneath the same scrawny acacia tree. One of those people was a young man of Asian descent, in his late twenties. He was dressed like a scientist on a safari, and his appearance was no lie. He was sitting on a bench placed in proximity to a rickety little table, meant to signify that he was taking his ease at a restaurant. He had been on 尘球 Chén Qíu for nearly four weeks now. He had found it fascinating at first, but after conducting his research and taking three paid excursions to the active terraforming site on the nearby moon, he was ready for a little more intellectual stimulation. He had discovered exactly two eating establishments worthy of the name in Town—the dusty sidewalk café he presently occupied and a fancy sit-down restaurant that, though considerably nicer, had service so slow that civilizations could rise and fall in the interval between soup and dessert. He was naturally gregarious, enjoyed being around people, and was never shy about striking up a conversation with strangers. To this end, his restaurant table was provided with a pitcher and several glasses, although he was currently solo. The trouble with 尘球 Chén Qíu was that although there were so many strange folk, so few of them were well-educated, and the young man was starving for intellectual conversation. He hadn't found anyone he could _really _talk to, for a long time. He watched the people passing by for entertainment, and if he had to admit it, he was assessing each and every one for the likelihood that they would have something interesting to say.

The other stranger was a somewhat older man, dressed in the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk. He was powerfully built and moved with a physical grace that spoke of long, disciplined training. He carried a long wooden staff and the prayer cloth and rice bowl typical of the mendicant monks who traveled the worlds seeking the path to spiritual enlightenment. His smooth, chocolate-brown face lacked the spiritual humility of a long-term practitioner, and an observer with intimate knowledge of Buddhist ways might have set him down as a 三日坊主 mikka boozu. They might have been wrong, however, because the dark brown eyes in his patient, compassionate face were deep and soulful. His contemplative face wore a look of troubled serenity. He sat cross-legged under the acacia tree, and seemed to be waiting for something.

The young man, the scientist-on-safari, decided that the traveling monk was his best bet, and addressed him politely. "Greetings, 师傅 shīfu. You look hot and tired. Would you like a seat in the shade?" He motioned to a bench next to his table.

"I _am _hot and tired," replied the saffron-robed man, accepting the seat on the bench. "I thank you."

"Let me offer you some refreshment," said the young man, whose name was Neumann. At the other's hesitation to accept his hospitality, he added, "No, really, it's not much—but in this heat, it's very welcome, I assure you," and placed a drink in the other's hand. The pitcher in truth contained nothing more than cold water and a few slices of rehydrated lemon, but in the hot and dusty environment of 尘球 Chén Qíu, it was a right treat.

"My friend," Neumann said, seeing his guest provided for, "what brings you to this far end of the system? I don't expect you're here for the sightseeing. Are you on a mission?"

"You could say that," the other replied. "My path led me here."

"I'm sure there are many here who could take comfort in the hope you offer," Neumann said. Terraforming crews led a hard, hard life, and anyone who made their lot a little more comfortable was a good man, in his view. "The workers here have it very hard indeed—"

"I hope, by following my path, to find some peace, to find redemption."

Neumann was curious. "Redemption for what, may I ask?"

"For all my sins. I used to travel the 'Verse telling people what their sins were—exacting punishment—believing I was making a better world—striving for a world without sin."

He might have looked a Buddhist priest, but he sounded more like a lapsed Christian. Neumann was intrigued. "That sounds like a noble goal."

"It was a false one. Because I avoided the sins I chastised others for, I believed myself to be without them. I was a monster. My sin was arrogance: the arrogance of believing I was right."

"How did you come to think you weren't?"

"I met with a man, a flawed man, a sinner. I intended to punish him, too. He showed me a world without sin—and it was a place of horror. He forced me to look it in the face, and see the terrible falsity of my beliefs. I was left with nothing."

"Oh." Neumann really didn't know how to respond to such a speech.

"It was very hard. That such a flawed man should have a stronger moral compass than I was a difficult truth to learn. The path to enlightenment is a difficult one to walk."

"That I can believe."

"In knocking down the edifice of my beliefs, that man sowed the seeds for my new mission. Unknowingly, I think." The saffron-robed man paused to drink deeply, then looked up with a friendly expression that engendered trust. "And what about you, friend? What brings you to this far end of the system, if _I _may ask?"

Neumann gave a lighthearted smile. "I'm on a bit of a mission myself. A scientific mission. I'm a terraformologist—an expert in terraforming technologies. I trained at Harcliffe University on Bernadette and opted for postdoctoral studies of a more practical nature. I worked for the terraforming science division of a large corporation, studying the mishaps, errors, terraforming accidents—to learn from them, improve the terraforming process, perhaps speed it up."

"Do you work at New Worlds, then?" the other asked, indicating the conspicuous office building across the square.

"Oh, no. New Worlds is actually a division of the corporation I recently left."

"You left your corporate job? Why?"

"Perhaps I just found the corporate workplace too restricting. The corporation had data from all the terraforming sites it worked—and there have been many—but I still feel there's no substitute for direct observation. But corporate policy allowed only more senior scientists to conduct field work. I just felt the need to do some real field work. So I decided to strike out on my own, and visit some study sites."

"You received a research grant?"

"I think of it as a self-sponsored sabbatical. I take temporary jobs—technical advisor, consultant, and the like—that pay my way to the study sites. I do the research free-lance. Then I'll write up some papers, publish them in the journals….It's a little harder to get published without corporate or academic affiliation, but I'm not discouraged."

"Is this moon one of your study sites, then?"

"It is," Neumann responded, "although it's not the most interesting case."

"Really? I never heard there was any terraforming accident here."

"Oh, well, this one didn't receive much publicity—I knew about it from my work at the corporation. I have it pretty much figured out. You see, some terraforming incidents are quite straightforward—an imbalance in the gravity, day cycle, atmospheric conditioning, or something of that sort. Sometimes there's a clear fix, a solution that puts terraforming right back on track. That's the case here. The whole problem originated in a failure to convert the units in one of the calculations. The setback, most fortunately, did not cause a disaster. Just made the rain too acidic to support plant life—though I grant you, that's a serious problem, and no end of trouble for the terraforming workers whose protective suits get eaten away by the acid—but it's correctable, and will only delay settlement by a few years. Other problems are not so correctable: Planet Leo ejected 25 percent of its mass—that was probably due to erroneous assumptions. You can't put that back, and reconfiguring terraformation for a planet that much reduced in mass is a huge project. Not to mention that the debris field surrounding the planet constitutes a significant navigational hazard." It really had been a long time since Neumann had been able to talk to somebody sympathetic, and he tended to verbosity when he had a willing listener.

"I've heard that pilots fly through it as a kind of rite-of-passage—earning their stripes."

"Only the crazy ones," Neumann said. He returned to his theme. "But the sites that interest me most are the ones where the cause is much less clear—the data record and published reports don't quite fit the eyewitness accounts and field observations. Solving any one of these mystery cases would earn me a professorship."

"That does sound interesting. Would I have heard of any of these mystery sites?"

"Surely you would. Miranda's been all over the news for weeks now."

"I saw the broadwave," the saffron-robed man said, in an odd voice.

Neumann didn't notice; he was too eager to make his next point. "Yes, I think everybody did. And that broadwave raised more questions than it answered."

"Oh, yes," the other responded, with an odd kind of chuckle. "And Parliament has been trying to answer those questions—quite a few heads are rolling in the political world."

"I'm not much interested in politics," Neumann replied, unwilling to be sidetracked into a political discussion. "No, I mean the _scientific _questions raised by Miranda are significant. The corporation I worked for did the terraforming there—before my time, of course. When the settlement failed, the scientific investigation committee listed terraforming events of various kinds—geologic, atmospheric, gravitational, and so on, as being the most likely causes. But the data I saw while I worked for the terraforming division of Bl—my corporate job didn't quite fit any of the postulated scenarios. That broadwave showed very little of the conditions on the ground, but what _was_ shown did not match the data I had seen. I've gone through that broadwave again and again, because it's the first fresh evidence to surface in a long time. What I'd really like is to be able to visit that site for myself, or at least talk with someone who's been to Miranda. An observant eyewitness can often give me just the clue I need to know where to look. But I don't suppose there's much chance of that—after all, it seems the entire scientific team that did the site investigation got eaten by Reavers."

"You don't doubt the existence of Reavers?"

"Never did. Well, I guess I did when I was a kid—just thought they were scary stories. But the corporation had another department—all classified of course—devoted to studying Reavers in all their aspects. I used to eat lunch with a guy who worked there—never heard any details of course, my security classification didn't cover Reavers."

The saffron-robed man considered a moment, and seemed to make a decision. "I knew someone who's been to Miranda."

"Knew? or know?" asked Neumann.

"He's still alive. Not a scientist. A ship's captain, free-lance. Flies a Firefly transport. His name is Malcolm Reynolds. Runs cargo for Holden Brothers, among others. In fact, I've heard he's due in this port any day now."

Neumann's excitement showed in his face. "Could you introduce me to the captain?"

"I'm afraid I don't know your name," said the man, smiling.

"Neumann. Ip Neumann." He shook the other's hand.

"I am Brother Chan 'eil Càil an so a' Faicadh."

Neumann didn't recognize the name. It wasn't any language he was familiar with. He knew that monks sometimes assumed a religious name, different from their own. Perhaps this name was derived from an ancient language of Buddhism from Earth-that-was. "Khan Ale Cal ahn so a'—uh—sorry, may I call you Khan?"

"Chan 'eil Càil will do. Now, I am afraid my path calls me onward, and I cannot stay and wait for the captain." He let the implication hang in the air that he must see to his mission with the terraforming workers. "I _can, _however, give you a letter of introduction to Mr. Jack Holden. Perhaps he could use a supercargo." He paused to let Dr Neumann work out the implications, which he did very rapidly. The young man was clearly bright.

"I'm glad I happened to meet you," Neumann said.

"Perhaps it was no accident," said Brother Chan 'eil Càil an so a' Faicadh, pausing to let the karmic significance of his words settle in. Then he added, "My friend, you have many interesting ideas. I'd be interested in reading your papers. I still have contacts in academia—if you keep in touch, let me know how the work is coming, I may be able to help you to a good position." He handed him an electronic card. "I travel around a lot, but this is a way to reach me." The Operative rose and walked off into the clouds of dust, confident that his chosen contact would act exactly as he intended.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

尘球 Chén Qíu [a world made up for the purposes of my story line, lit. "dust ball"]

妓女 jìnǚ [whore]

三日坊主 mikka boozu [three-day Buddhist priest (Japanese proverbial saying)]

师傅 shīfu [master, polite form of address for a monk]

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><p><em><em>(Part 1 of 4) <em>Please review. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

Expectations, Part 2

Fourth in series. Follows A Lion's Mouth, Adventures in Sitting, and Sparks Fly.

_Serenity's new cargo comes with a complication. Mal and Zoe meet the contact at a dusty dive._

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><p>Later that same day, Ip Neumann decided to pay a visit to the offices of Holden Brothers. He thought he'd inquire about when Captain Reynolds's ship was expected to arrive, and potential supercargo or technical advisor positions that would get him aboard that ship. The open-plan office was a hive of activity. Jack Holden had emerged from his private office, as he did periodically, to stir his employees into a frenzy of activity. The place resembled a beehive under attack by a honeybadger. Everyone, including the receptionist, was in a tizzy, and Neumann decided the better course of action was simply to sit in the reception area and wait for the hive to return to a more sedate hum. Besides, the attack of the honeybadger was quite entertaining to watch.<p>

Jack Holden confronted a young man at his desk. "Jeffrey, any word on that shipment of terraforming gear from Beaumonde?

"None at all, Mr Holden. I've tried contacting Serenity at least five times today."

"Well, keep trying. Carlton Beier is on fire to get his shipment in. He risks having to shut down operations completely if he doesn't have the gear in place, and that'll cost him millions a day. He's been paging me endlessly for the last three days and I expect he'll be shadowing my every move before long. Let me know the instant Reynolds calls in. I want to see him before Beier gets to him."

"Yes, Mr Holden," Jeffrey responded, but Holden had already moved on to another area of the office, calling, "Xiu Ling!"

"Mr Holden?" she responded.

"What's the status of the surplus export from New Worlds?"

"The warehouse reports that thirty-six containers of gravitational modifiers were loaded in this morning," she informed him.

"This morning! Why didn't I hear about this sooner?"

"The manager said they were delivered in unlabelled shipping containers. She was unaware that they were the gravitational modifiers until some of the crates started lifting off the pallets."

"该死 Gāisǐ!" Holden swore. "Those units need perpetual adjustment by expert hands. I told New Worlds they were not to deliver until they could provide a technical supervisor with the goods. At this rate, my whole warehouse will be taking off into the sky!"

"Sir, that's not an unlikely event—the manager's had her hands full."

"Send her reinforcements! We got anybody here with the technical know-how to bring runaway grav modifiers back to ground?"

Xiu Ling shook her head. "Not really, Mr Holden."

"该死 Gāisǐ again. I intended to give that cargo to Reynolds, but at this rate, it'll take off before he even lands. Get on the horn to New Worlds, ask them where the 地狱 dìyù is that technical supervisor, get that person over to my warehouse on the double."

"Yes, Mr Holden," Xiu Ling replied, but again Holden was already badgering someone else. "Jerome!"

The personnel manager readied himself for emergency intervention. Working for Jack Holden regularly involved solving the crisis of the day.

"We need a Plan B on those grav modifiers. We were gonna have to hire a supercargo to accompany that shipment anyway. So send out the bulletin now." Holden began dictating without a moment's pause. Luckily Jerome knew his boss well, and was already prepared. "Position open, Supercargo, technical expertise with gravitational modifiers required, to start immediately. Send references to et cetera et cetera. And offer an attractive wage. Gotta be somebody with the know-how ready to leave this dustball. New World don't pay enough to make 'em want to stay, and Beier is too tight-fisted to make 'em a decent counter-offer." As he finished his rant, Jerome polished up the help-wanted notice and posted it.

Xiu Ling tapped Jack Holden's elbow. "No joy, Mr Holden. Antonio at New Worlds says the gravity tech left planet on last night's passenger shuttle to Rio Beach."

"Rio Beach!" Holden's indignant voice resounded throughout the office, and the younger employees ducked behind their cortex screens as if to avoid flying projectiles. "My warehouse is about to blow up and the guy's headed to the beach! 粗心的年轻人 Cūxīn de niánqīngrén, 不负责任 bùfùzérèn, 寻找自己的快乐 xúnzhǎo zìjǐ de kuàilè…" Holden's voice faded as he retreated back into his office. The door closed behind him, and gradually the worker bees settled back into their ordinary level of busyness.

Neumann approached receptionist. "I understand there's a position open for a supercargo with technical expertise with gravitational modifiers?"

. . .

The next morning, Neumann returned to Holden Brothers' office to fill in paperwork relating to his new position as supercargo in charge of a shipment of gravitational modifiers bound for 泥球 Ní Qiú. The supercargo was to hold himself ready to board the transport ship Serenity, and to be prepared to fly at such time as the captain of said vessel should see fit. Neumann read and signed the contract, signed the releases, and wrote in his name, social control number, and mailing address many times over. All this technology available and no one could be bothered to invent self-filling forms. As he was occupied in this pleasant and cheersome task, the front door swung open and tall man in a brown coat entered the building. The man was accompanied by two women, one tall with a military bearing, the other short and smiley, and he carried a large, heavy bag filled with lumpy objects. The man strode forward and spoke to the receptionist.

"Captain Reynolds to see Mr Jack Holden."

Neumann looked up at the name, and paid close attention throughout the exchange that followed.

Jack Holden had just emerged from his office to begin another round of badgering his employees, but when he spotted the newcomers, he rushed over. "Mal! You son-of-a-gun! More than a _week_ overdue! Where the 地狱 dìyù you been? Wondering when you'd get around to seeing us. Your buyer's on fire to settle the deal…but first I'll need to go inspect the cargo." He took Mal's arm and attempted to steer him right out the front door. "Now, if you've done well, I got a good paying export cargo for you to take on next—let me tell you—"

"Slow down a moment, Jack. I been on the planet all of five minutes. There's some explaining to do. I had no end of trouble getting to this rock, and I'm wondering if you can shed any light as to why."

Jack Holden had no idea, and looked it.

Mal opened up the bag, and placed several fused lumps of plastic and metal on the counter. "Do you know what these are?"

"I have no idea, Mal," Holden replied.

"These are my nav sats, Jack. _All _my nav sats. All the navigational gear I got on my boat. This happened one day out from Beaumonde."

The wheels were turning in Holden's head as he began figuring out what had happened to Serenity. "Why the hell didn't you send me a wave?"

"No cortex," Mal answered. "Whatever fused the nav sats into useless lumps, also knocked out the cortex feed. I had to navigate _by hand_ all the way from Hera—"

"Hera's not on the way—"

"Tell me about it. I was saying, from Hera, with a partially disabled helm driver—" Jack

Holden gasped as he realized the sheer extent of damage. "Way I look at it, I'm here early. Hell, I'm glad I got here at all. Now if you have anything to tell me, why don't we go for a little walk and…" At this point, Jack Holden, or rather the Captain, had steered the whole party out the door and toward the dockyard. Neumann, the receptionist, and a number of other curious employees were now gathered around the misshapen lumps on the counter. Neumann could just make out the melted logo of Blue Sun Corporation on the lump nearest him.

. . .

Mal and Jack Holden walked side by side through the dust toward the dockyard, where Serenity berthed. Zoe positioned herself at the ready on Holden's other side. Kaylee, unsure what to do, finally fell into place on Mal's other side.

Jack Holden spoke. "They're prettier than your usual enforcers, Mal."

"You've met my first mate, Zoe," Mal said, disregarding Holden's words. "Kaylee is my mechanic. I'm giving Jayne shore leave. He deserves a rest, since he got electrocuted and blown off the boat when we tried to fix the nav sats in space. This wasn't just a chance failure, Jack. Someone on Beaumonde conducted a very thorough job of sabotage. And not just that. They set a booby trap—a Qianxia proximity detonator to blow up anyone who came outside to investigate. Nearly did for Jayne. Nearly did for us all. So what is it about this cargo that you and Buck ain't tellin' me that makes my boat such a target?"

Jack Holden shook his head, and indicated that he was unwilling to speak plainly here in the public square.

"So, the little gentleman in black velvet lives on this planet, too?" Zoe asked, coolly.

_The mole again_, Mal thought. Where'd Zoe come to be getting so poetical? "I'm thinking, Jack, that you owe me run of your repair yard. Kaylee, give him the list."

Jack Holden read the list. "Mal, you're welcome to everything I got in the repair yard. The helm driver should be no problem. Cortex feed, we can probably swing that through our corporate contacts. We even got a shuttle nav system. But we can't come up with three nav sats. They're a special order item, take weeks to arrive. Only way you can get them, around here, is reconditioned ones, from Nilsen. Black market."

"Where's Nilsen's?" Mal inquired. "Here in town?"

"Don't rightly know, Mal. It's common knowledge that Nilsen runs an illegal salvage yard, but he's very close about it. Obviously, he doesn't want to get busted. Illegal salvage and…trafficking. These aren't the kind of people you want to buy from, Mal. Shoot you soon as they'd deal with you. Thoroughly disreputable, skating this close—" he indicated a small distance with his fingers "—to a conviction and prison sentence…" He trailed off. Mal and Zoe looked completely unfazed. Seemed to be business as usual for them. Kaylee was wide-eyed.

"So, do you know how I can make contact with Nilsen?" Mal asked.

. . .

The four arrived outside Serenity. Mal keyed in a code to open the airlock and they entered, shutting the airlock behind them. Jack Holden walked around the crates, looking for something no one else could see. At last he spotted what he was looking for. He reached up toward the crate with an object about the size and shape of a pen. The pen seemed to shoot out a hollow needle into the side of the crate. There was a small whooshing sound like a vacuum filling with air, and apparently the pen had done its work, extracting a microscopic something from the crate. Jack Holden squinted at a tiny display on the pen. It read "data transfer complete."

Jack Holden turned to Mal with a broad smile and handed him a bag of reasonable size full of coin. "Thank you, Mal. Buck and I are grateful, you have no idea how much…"

"That's it?" Mal exclaimed, pointing to the tiny data extractor. "We had someone sabotage the ship, try to kill us all, set us adrift in the black—for _that?_"

"Information, Mal. Most precious commodity running."

"Apparently so."

"You of all people should know, Mal. How many times you get in trouble because of secrets and lies? Government deals in keeping its secrets. Corporation like Blue Sun _thrives _on keeping its secrets—and buying, selling, and trading on the government's secrets. Well, now Buck and I have a hold of a dearly bought secret of Blue Sun's."

"那些腐败的 狗娘养的 Nàxiē fǔbài de gǒuniángyǎngde, 他们完全不诚实 tāmen wánquán bùchéngshí," Mal swore.

"They're all in bed with each other," Jack Holden replied.

. . .

Mal held an all-crew conference in the cargo bay to lay out the plan. "Jack Holden says he's got us a shiny new cargo. We'll load it up, soon as I make the deal with the buyer here and get this junk—" he indicated the tall crates that most of the crew were leaning up against "—off the boat. It's a tech cargo, surplus grav modifiers, bound for another span t荒凉 huāngliáng rock undergoing the terraforming process."

"Grav modifiers?" Kaylee exclaimed. "Shiny!"

"Kaylee, go to Holden's warehouse, scope out the requirements of the cargo. Grav modifiers are a fussy sort of machine, need perpetual tinkering, they come with a technical supercargo to keep 'em in tune for the duration of the flight. Jack said he's found one can do the job. So, Kaylee, pay attention what sort of person the tech is, report back. Need to make up a room in the passenger dorm."

"I love meeting new people! Shiny!"

"Soon as that's done, I need you to work on the repairs to the helm, cortex, and nav sats, soon as the replacement parts come available. Draft Simon or the supercargo to help if you need." Kaylee immediately set to work, as there was so much to be done. He turned to Inara. "Inara, will you condescend to join me for dinner this evening with the buyer and his wife at 尘球 Chén Qíu's finest restaurant? I gotta close the deal, and...honestly, if you can lend me a hand with your feminine wiles—"

"I thought you didn't care for me using my 'wiles,' Mal."

"On the buyer—you know, charm him into giving me a fair price."

"Since it's you who's asking…" she smiled.

Mal gave her a smile in return, and turned to the Doc. "Simon, see to food, fuel, water, medical supplies, septic vac…"

Simon gave Mal a curt nod, and moved off, grumbling to himself, "—because three years at the best Medacad on Osiris qualifies me for septic vac duty."

"And River—" Mal began.

"Watch the ship," she said, anticipating his words as usual. She continued in his dialect. "Don't need no saboteurs makin' the next leg of our journey more interestin'."

"Right. Zoe, you and I are gonna go make contact with the black market junk man."

"What about me?" Jayne asked.

"Shore leave, Jayne. You can—"

"超 精彩 Chāo jīngcǎi! Gonna go get sexed!"

"—take it easy." Mal called after him, "And sleep aboard tonight! We may have to leave this planet—"

"—in a hurry. I know, I know," Jayne called back.

. . .

Kaylee entered Mr Holden's warehouse. It was a large building, and a great variety of packages and crates were stored in it. The most noticeable were a collection of moderately-tall long crates in the center of the warehouse. They had control panels mounted to their sides, with blinking lights in various colors, but what was remarkable was the fact that most of them were elevated off their pallets, some of them crazily so. A couple of them hovered near the ceiling, and a young man had positioned a portable scaffolding to access them. He was lying on the high platform, reaching over into the control panel of one of them, when Kaylee called, "你好 Nǐhǎo! 我可以进来吗 Wǒ kěyǐ jìnlái ma?"

"请进 Qǐngjìn!" he replied.

"Hi, I'm Kaylee, ship's mechanic for Serenity."

The young man leaned over edge of scaffold, reached down and shook her hand. Ship's mechanic Kaylee looked up at him, pretty as a picture. "Ip Neumann. Pleased to meet you."

"Captain Reynolds asked me to talk to you about the stowage requirements for the grav modifiers." Kaylee took a good look at the open control panel. She never could resist an interesting machine. "哇 Wā! They are no end of shiny!"

Neumann grinned. He had been enjoying his hands-on time with the grav modifiers. Hadn't worked with them since he was in grad school.

"Are you balancing the radial motivators?" Kaylee asked. He nodded, and she added, "I've always wanted to learn how to do that. Need a hand?"

. . .

It was getting on towards noon when Mal and Zoe set out on foot to make contact with Nilsen. Nilsen's business was not the kind to keep a shiny office in the square, so they kept walking past the business district and into the less savory area of Town. The dusty streets became dustier, the businesses less prosperous-looking, and the housing more ramshackle. They crossed an open sewer, a disgusting sight that had Mal wrinkling his nose. Zoe found it even more repugnant, and controlled the urge to vomit.

At last they came to the bar where Jack Holden had told them they might find Nilsen's man. They entered the building and as their eyes adjusted to the dim light within, they saw the place was filled with laborers and loiterers, a boisterous if not well-heeled lunch crowd. At least it was cooler inside the bar, because outdoors the scorching heat had settled over 尘球 Chén Qíu, the kind of heat that stopped all activity in its tracks and made sensible people retire to the shade for siestas. It must have been all the walking in the dry, dusty heat, because Zoe collapsed into her seat as soon as they reached the table. Mal settled into the seat opposite Zoe, covering the part of the room behind her back. He ordered drinks and suggested they have some lunch as well. Might revive Zoe somewhat if she got something refreshing to eat. His pocket was full of coin from their payday, so he ordered a huge salad for himself, with all the fresh vegetables they'd been lacking for so long in space. Zoe surprised him by ordering ramen noodles, which she could perfectly well have had aboard ship. He gave her a second glance. "Zoe, you feeling alright? You know, we're flush—no need to skimp. We can perfectly well afford vegetables—or even fruit if you want it." Mal slipped a folded piece of paper into the waiter's hand along with a coin as he placed the order. Zoe didn't reply to Mal's comments, but sat with the unfocused look that had become all too common a sight on her face in recent weeks.

Mal scanned the bar, looking for the contact. It was a seedy-looking crowd of people. Perhaps it was the dust that settled over everything and seemed to be permanently embedded into everybody's clothes and hair and skin, but this crowd wouldn't be winning any beauty contests. Zoe, uncharacteristically, was not scanning the room behind him for the contact or for trouble. Instead, she reached for a handful of deep-fried wonton wrappers from the bowl the waiter had placed on their table, and gobbled them like her life depended on it. Mal was just getting concerned about Zoe's odd behavior when the food arrived. The fresh vegetables were irresistible, and for a few minutes, Mal focused on eating. After a few large mouthfuls, Mal noticed that Zoe wasn't eating, just picking at the greasy noodles on her plate. She looked kinda green about the gills. "You wamb dum dalad?" Mal asked her around a mouthful of lettuce. Maybe she regretted not ordering something fresh. Zoe wrinkled her nose at him, swallowed, and abruptly excused herself.

Mal was surprised and not a little concerned. Not the first time he'd noticed Zoe acting a little off in recent days. But a few minutes later, Zoe returned from the ladies' room, looking considerably better.

"You okay?" Mal asked quietly.

"Just fine now, sir. Don't know what came over me." She scanned the room in her usual way, covering Mal's back. "You mind sharing some of that salad?"

"Still looking for our contact," Mal said, shoveling a portion onto Zoe's plate. "Holden said he's a man in his thirties or forties, face like a boxer, rough manner, wears a torn t-shirt."

"Sir, that could describe half the people in here. And that's only because the other half are female." Mal's anxiety abated. The regular Zoe was back. They ate in silence for a while, until they were interrupted by a large and noisy stranger who swaggered up to their table with a self-important air.

"Hey! Are you Reynolds?"

"That's my name," Mal replied, shifting his feet under him, ready to rise into action.

"Heard you was lookin' for Nilsen."

"Could be," Mal answered, casually.

"Nilsen doesn't want to see you," the man said, looming over him. Mal stood up and took a step back, pulling back his coat in the same motion to free up access to his weapon. Mal sized the man up, deciding how to play this one. The stranger was a bit taller, and much bigger. He stepped up into Mal's personal space, trying to cow him, turning his back on Zoe. Nilsen had chosen his tool for his intimidating size rather than for his towering intellect. Mal noticed the other bar patrons showed little interest in the proceedings. Apparently Nilsen's man was accustomed to bully his potential customers before talking business.

"I don't need to see him. Just need to see the gear. If he really has it," Mal answered, baiting him. Could it be this easy?

The man took the bait. "Nilsen's got everything," he said, boastfully. "He got grav dampeners, he got pin blocks, he got Gurtslers…"

Mal made his _wow, that's pathetic_ face. "He's got Gurtslers! Who in the galaxy don't? C'mon, Zoe, we're wastin' our time. All this Nilsen fellow got is stuff you could pick up in any common junkyard."

"Hey!" he said, grabbing Mal's collar, "I'm not finished. He got G-lines, grav boots, compression coils—"

_Huh_, Mal said with his expression. "Compression coil—that's a nothin' part."

"Shut up, I'm talkin' at you! Nav sats, cooling drives—"

"Now you're tellin' me the whole catalog. Let's split, Zoe, all the man's got is a pile a' junk." This was fun. The 傻瓜 shǎguā was spillin' everything.

"It's all sittin' right in his warehouse, middle of the compound. And if that's not enough for you, you 傲慢 王八蛋 àomàn wángbādàn, he got the full range of buhnders, autolocks, sonic rifles, grenades—"

Mal looked unimpressed. "Right, the usual. Don't he got no defensive weapons? Perimeter barriers? Proximity detonators?"

"He got the best," Nilsen's man boasted. "Georgian Protocol repellent barrier—uses it his own self to protect the store. You want barriers, landlock systems, he got 'em."

"You didn't say nothin' about proximity detonators," Mal countered. "So you mean he don't got none?"

"You want banned weapons, he got 'em. You gotta visit his office for that. He don't use 'em hisself—just cause a headache if one of the local brats got blowed up pokin' round the compound. But you can't buy nothin' unless you come with the right kind a' gifts. Won't never make it past the sentries and the dogs."

"Gifts?" Zoe asked, getting in the game. "You mean bribes."

"So what does a man of Nilsen's discriminating tastes like?" Mal asked.

The man leered at Zoe. "Girls. Drugs. He always got buyers for them. 'Course, he don't mind hard platinum, supposin' you got enough." The man eyed Mal with what he figured to be a withering stare. "And I don't reckon you do."

Mal had decided how to proceed with the transaction. "We got Ice," he said, recollecting the street name for isoprovalyn. What was the other drug Simon had mentioned? Hydrozapam. He racked his brain for the street name. "Pam, too."

Zoe raised her eyebrows at him, with a look that said clearly _Are you out of your mind, sir?_ What kind of game was Mal playing? This could get dangerous, fast.

Mal flicked a glance her way. _Wait on my signal._ "That enough to buy our way in?"

"Could set up a meet."

"Wheresabouts is Nilsen's shop, then?" Mal held the man's eyes as Zoe moved into position.

"East end of town, behind Rollie's Wharf."

"Tonight?" Mal asked.

"Tomorrow at 1:00. Nilsen don't open for business at night, unless it's the—heh, heh—'human relations' kind."

Mal was disgusted with the man's obvious relish of his little joke about Nilsen's human trafficking business, but he kept that to himself. He only said, "Feel we can do business. See you tomorrow." He made as if to go.

Nilsen's man clearly felt he needed the last word. "Don't forget the gifts, or your girl here'll be scrapin' what's left a' you outta the dust. Now let me give you your entry ticket." Now the 傻瓜 shǎguā was settin' up for a comedian, Mal thought. _Wouldn't he just love to give me a black eye for a 'ticket'—heh, heh._ He could see the man's wind-up seconds before his fist began moving, and the oaf telegraphed his intentions with his eyes so clearly that Mal could plan his countermoves three moves ahead. There was no need, however, since Zoe dropped the man from behind with one swift blow to the head.

No one in the bar seemed to object to seeing Nilsen's bully dropped to the floor. All according to plan. "Let's go, Zoe," Mal said. "Got work to be done."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

该死 Gāisǐ [Goddamn]

该死 Gāisǐ [Damn]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

粗心的年轻人 Cūxīn de niánqīngrén [These unthinking young people]

不负责任 bùfùzérèn [no sense of responsibility]

寻找自己的快乐 xúnzhǎo zìjǐ de kuàilè [looking to their own pleasures]

泥球 Ní Qiú [world made up for purposes of this story, lit. "mud ball"]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

那些腐败的 狗娘养的 Nàxiē fǔbài de gǒuniángyǎngde [Those corrupt sons of bitches]

他们完全不诚实 tāmen wánquán bùchéngshí [no honesty in them at all]

荒凉 huāngliáng [godforsaken]

尘球 Chén Qíu [world made up for purposes of this story]

超 精彩 Chāo jīngcǎi [Hot damn, lit. 'super brilliant']

你好 Nǐhǎo [Hello]

我可以进来吗 Wǒ kěyǐ jìnlái ma [May I come in]

请进 Qǐngjìn [Come in]

哇 Wā [Wow]

傻瓜 shǎguā [idiot]

傲慢 王八蛋 àomàn wángbādàn [jumped-up son of a bitch]

傻瓜 shǎguā [fool]

* * *

><p><em>AN: As always, reviews are much appreciated. More reviews-more writing-more stories posted :-)_


	3. Chapter 3

Expectations, Part 3

_Mal and Inara meet the buyer. Night operations._

* * *

><p>Kaylee sat on Serenity's topside, repairing the helm driver. She glanced up from her work and saw the new supercargo, Mr Neumann, walking toward the ship. He was carrying a travel valise, a small crate, and satchel. Looked like he had his hands full. As he neared the ship, he hailed her.<p>

"Hey! Miss Kaylee," he called, setting down his valise and the crate.

"Hey you."

"I'm the bearer of good tidings. Mr Holden was able to rustle up a cortex feed for you. I've brought it along." He opened up his satchel to reveal a piece of equipment. "Do you need any help installing it?"

"Well, thanks. If you don't mind handing me the tools when I ask for them. Set your gear in the cargo bay and come on up."

A few minutes later, Ip Neumann climbed Serenity's side and joined her.

. . .

Mal waited in the cargo bay, dressed in his best suit. His only suit, come right down to it. He'd worn it to that shindig on Persephone, when he'd fought the duel with that 混蛋 húndàn Wing. He'd carefully mended the waistcoat after getting stabbed, and the bloodstains had mostly come out. He'd only worn the suit one other time, when Inara had accompanied him to that shadow puppet play to meet that filthy 混蛋 húndàn Burgess. Huh. Seemed to be his "meet a 混蛋 húndàn" suit. Didn't bode well for tonight's meet with the buyer. Before he had time to think about the implications, Inara emerged from her shuttle wearing another one of her fabulous dresses. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to hammer in his chest. He met her at the foot of the stair. Giving a quick look around and seeing no one in the cargo bay, Mal leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "You look beautiful," then gave Inara a quick kiss.

Neither Mal nor Inara noticed that they had been observed. Simon and River were in the infirmary when they happened to look through the window to the cargo bay just in time to see the Captain kiss Inara tenderly. Simon and River shared a look—"Awww." It was so sweet. The Captain then offered Inara his arm.

"I've washed it," Mal said, seriously.

Inara was ready to slap him for saying that, but she saw the smile in his eyes. She took his arm, and they walked off to dinner at 尘球 Chén Qíu's finest restaurant.

. . .

Having fixed the helm driver, Kaylee and Neumann were still topside installing the cortex feed when the Captain and Inara left the ship. Kaylee spotted the couple.

"Look! There they go, off to dinner!" She explained to Neumann. "It's the Captain and—Awww!" she said as Mal stole another kiss from Inara.

"She looks like a Registered Companion," Neumann remarked.

"She is," Kaylee replied, with a note of pride.

Neumann gave a low whistle. He was impressed. He hadn't expected this. The Captain must be higher class, and much richer, than he had chalked him up to be.

. . .

尘球 Chén Qíu's finest restaurant was a well-appointed establishment that catered to the world's (that is to say the Town's) business elite. Inara and Mal sat at a table opposite Mr and Mrs Beier. He was a middle-aged, soft-paunched business man, who sat at the apex of the 尘球 Chén Qíu food pyramid. People like him kept the restaurant in business, and that was something he never let the wait staff lose sight of. The restaurant staff retaliated for his patronizing manner by providing some of the slowest service on any world spinning. His wife was richly dressed, younger than he but no longer in her first youth. She had very little to say for herself, and was clearly Mr Beier's arm candy. Mal was pleased to notice that despite the richness of her clothing, she couldn't hold a candle to Inara. Inara in a gunny sack woulda outshown this woman, on the basis of her elegance of poise and gesture alone.

The dinner meandered on and on, course after course, with bucketloads of small talk, most of it carried on between Mr Beier and Inara. Mal had never sat so long over a meal in his life, and it weren't even half over. Mal did his best to contribute to the polite conversation, complimenting the buyer on his business acumen, setting up his supply company here on 尘球 Chén Qíu, so close to the terraforming operation, with convenient access to customers and shipping. He came up with all manner of polite things to say to Mrs Beier, complimenting her on her attire, elegance, manners, anything he could think of, to which she invariably replied with an elegant little nod of her head—it was her favorite schooled gesture, one of a very limited repertoire—and a half smile. She really didn't have much to say for herself, and it was hard going. Her only offering during the first three courses was, "I heard you had a thrilling adventure in space with your navigational system all—how do you put it?—off line."

"Yes, ma'am, nothin' but a little glitch," Mal answered with his most charming smile. "Nothing my crew and I couldn't handle. Barely slowed us down."

Meanwhile, Inara was keeping up a steady flow of conversation. She talked to both the Beiers about festivals on Sihnon, the Opera, resorts and spas, political figures—only as seen in society, of course—fashion, racing, sports celebrities—seemed there wasn't a topic she couldn't touch. Mal was impatient to get down to business, but every time he attempted to steer the conversation that direction, either Beier or Inara squelched it. He knew that Inara's conversation was not the idle chatter it appeared, but was unable to follow the method behind the madness. He did his best to support her, chiming in with appropriate comments whenever he could. He had a good idea how poorly he succeeded in that endeavor, because every time he said something that Inara deemed wrong, inappropriate, or whatever, she stepped on his foot under the table. The foot was getting some hard, harsh treatment. This was the longest gorram dinner of his life.

Inara controlled the conversation, probing the buyer's areas of expertise, finding acquaintances in common—or at least people that _she_ was acquainted with that he would like to _think_ himself associated with. Within twenty minutes Inara had the fellow pegged. She knew exactly where he sat in the social order, both on his world and in the wider scheme, where his weaknesses lay, and had mapped out a plan to maneuver him into a deal favorable toward Mal. It made it more of a challenge, doing this in company with Mal, because she had to manage his conversation as well, and keep his impatience in check. Midway through the fifth course, she saw that Mal was quietly seething, and spoke to him in a low voice. "Patience is a virtue, Mal."

"Patience shot me," he answered, and resigned himself to another hour of tedium.

At last, _at last, _dessert plates sat empty, and after-dinner drinks were served. Inara gave Mal's hand a light squeeze under the table. He was free to open the business portion of the dinner at last. "Mr Beier, as pleasant as it has been to get better acquainted with you and Mrs Beier, we can't avoid the press of business forever," Mal began, _although we've been doing a damn good job of it,_ he thought to himself. "So let me thank you for recommending this elegant restaurant," _only one on the planet, and they know it, the service is so slow_, "and introduce the topic of the day, which is the cargo of terraforming gear you're wanting." Inara gave him a smile. He was doing alright.

"Mr Holden anticipates my needs," Beier stated genially. He was making his first move. Inara read the subtext. _He doesn't _need_ this stuff, Holden wants to give it to him_.

"Mr Holden indicated this is a high priority cargo for you—that your business can't function without it," Mal countered pleasantly, laying his opening card on the table. "I'm pleased to be able to deliver something so useful to you." _You're desperate for this cargo and stand to lose millions if you don't have it right away. Ought to be willing to pay any price for it._

With Inara's help, Mal brought the conversation back to these same points. He had Beier over a barrel, but generously, he'd be satisfied with fair market price—plus twenty-five percent as a starting point for bargaining. Mal mentioned that his next port of call was the terraforming site at 泥球 Ní Qiú, and that the terraforming gear he had in his hold would surely fetch a higher price there. No call to mention that he needed the space for another cargo.

Beier's pleasant counter-phrases came down to the same essential points. He didn't _need_ this gear, really. Holden was always trying to foist his surplus on him. He was a generous man, and was willing to take this cargo off Captain Reynolds's hands, out of the goodness of his heart. His business would be taking a hit if he had to pay full price for what amounted to an act of charity. Besides, the goods were delivered late, there ought to be a discount. How could he be certain the gear was intact, that the Captain's thrilling space adventures en route hadn't resulted in damaged goods?

Inara stepped in and overrode the objections one by one, working the buyer like professional wrangler. Mal had to admire it, it was so slick. She compared Beier to all the political, fashion, and sporting figures he wished he were associated with, flattering him, challenging him to step up to the bar set by these notables. Mr Beier began to feel that he was working his way into the good graces of the Companion. Stealing her out from under the Captain's nose would be rather satisfying, now wouldn't it? The Captain was clearly getting annoyed with the way the Companion was flirting with him. What if she came home with him instead of the Captain? The Captain was looking angry, put out. Beier definitely was getting the better end of the deal. He had momentarily forgotten that his wife sat right beside him. Her annoyance rivaled the Captain's. He found himself agreeing to the Captain's terms, the sooner to be alone with the Companion.

Mal and Beier shook hands on the deal. More to the point, money (in the form of credits) changed hands, and they agreed to off-load the goods immediately. After all the long, drawn-out, tedious dinnertime preliminaries, it was amazing how quickly Beier moved. Beier waved his foreman and sent a crew over to Serenity to begin the unloading. Mal alerted Zoe to expect Beier's crew, and to assist in getting the crates off-loaded as fast as possible. He added another brief instruction, and knew Zoe would correctly surmise that the grav modifiers were to be loaded in as soon as the deck was clear. Mrs Beier moved quickly, too, to get her husband the hell away from that Companion.

. . .

Mal walked quickly away from the restaurant, and with ever so slight a limp. Inara had to work to keep up.

"So you're comin' with me, after all? I thought you were ready to spend the night with Beier."

"That was the idea, Mal."

"最的地狱 Zuì de dìyù! What did you just say?"

"It was your idea, Mal. Use my feminine wiles, make him all 'sweaty and compliant,' get you a good deal."

"一切的 他妈的 该死 Yīqiè de tāmādē gāisǐ."

"You couldn't have played the role of jealous lover better if I'd coached you. Are you angry because it worked?"

Mal fumed silently for a bit. Yes, he was. Something at the edge of his mind told him he needn't be. But he was still angry, so he latched on to the next pretext to be angry about. "And what was all that kickin' me under the table about?"

"It's the universally understood signal, used by couples everywhere, for 'Shut up, dear.'"

Mal's retort died on the tip of his tongue, as he realized that she had just called them a couple. Slowly his feelings transformed from anger to something rather better.

. . .

Ip Neumann was present in Serenity's cargo bay when the crates containing the gravitational modifiers were brought over from the warehouse to be loaded in. As the technical supervisor of the cargo, it was his job to make sure the grav modifiers were properly situated and not damaged in the loading. He soon realized that he'd walked into a war zone, and did his best not to get in the way of the cross-fire between the crew members that he'd barely met.

Zoe was losing her temper. "Jayne, I already told you where to stow it!"

"I'm just sayin', them crates 'd fit better over here. There's bolts already…"

Neumann privately agreed with Jayne, but was careful not to say a word. Serenity's first mate was clearly not someone he wanted to get on the wrong side of. Then again, this Jayne person was also not someone he wanted to mess with. Kaylee also agreed with Jayne, and spoke up diplomatically to Zoe. "You want us to be movin' the mule?"

"Stubborn as a mule, that's what you are, Jayne!" Zoe shouted. "You put those crates right up against it."

"Crowds the workings," Jayne insisted. "Them crates'd be better over here. Better balance, better secured…"

"Do as I say!" Zoe ordered.

"Why?"

To everyone's astonishment, Zoe suddenly burst into tears and rushed out of the cargo bay.

"What'd I say?" Jayne asked.

"你混球, 你无情的糊涂人 Nǐ húnqiú, nǐ wúqíng de hútu rén," Kaylee hissed at him.

. . .

There was never a dull moment. As Mal escorted Inara up the ramp into the cargo bay, he saw Zoe burst into tears and rush away. He confronted Jayne.

"What's this, Jayne, bringing Zoe to tears? I've known her for near fifteen years, seen her in every mood, never once seen her cry. What in the wide 'Verse did you say to her?"

"I just told her I thought them crates 'd do better stacked on the port side. Then she bust into tears."

"Huh."

. . .

Later that night, Mal stopped off to see Simon in the infirmary. He had changed out of his shindig suit and was dressed for night operations. Simon handed him a small packet, which he placed in the inside pocket of his jacket. He would need it when he and Zoe visited Nilsen's compound.

"Just one of those ought to be enough, but I've given you extra in case you need it," Simon informed Mal.

"That oughtta do it. And Doc, when we get back, you mind having a look at Zoe? She just ain't been herself lately. I'm worried she's thinking overmuch on things she can't do nothin' about, gettin' herself all depressed." He paused, considering Zoe's odd behavior at lunch. "And maybe she got the stomach flu on top of it all."

. . .

Zoe's well-being was still very much on Mal's mind as they made their way down towards Rollie's Wharf and Nilsen's compound. She, too, was dressed for night operations, and besides their usual side arms, both carried a number of the more esoteric tools they used for overriding electronic barriers and opening locks. Zoe could tell that the Captain had worked himself up into another one of those sensitive-and-supportive states, which was a crazy way to act going into a burglary job. Man seemed to have a case of verbal diarrhea. Couldn't stop his mouth from running.

"…wanna make sure you're alright," Mal was saying, as they jogged along, "…so just let me know, Zoe, if you need to. I'm there for you."

She made no reply, and they continued in silence for a stretch. Then Mal seemed to find it necessary to make conversation again. "This part of town sure clears out at night. Ain't nobody down here but Nilsen's people and us brigands. You sure you're alright, Zoe?" he asked, for perhaps the tenth time.

"Sir, will you stop askin' if I'm alright? 'Cause, yeah, I'm alright. If I ain't I'll let you know straight up. That's as regards the basics. And as for the other, no, I ain't alright, and ain't nothin' going to make it right, neither. My husband's still dead, and nothing you say can change that fact." She paused a moment. "But thanks for your concern, just the same. I appreciate it, Mal," she said, using his name for a change.

"I'll shut up then, Zoe. But please let me know if I can help."

"Well, sir, if you can take out that sentry and cover me while I disable the Georgian perimeter barrier—I reckon that would help."

They closed in and Mal silently took out the sentry, taking him by surprise and delivering a knockout blow, followed by a sedative nasal spray that would keep him down for a good hour. Zoe moved forward with a belly crawl toward an unseen barrier, and pulled a tool from her kit. She used it to cut through an unseen trip wire, then she used a second tool to override the security codes. A tall electronic fence briefly flickered into view, fizzled, and died away.

Mal covered her as she moved carefully across the barrier zone. No alarm.

Zoe edged around the corner of a shed, taking out a second sentry from behind, in perfect silence, leaving him unconscious in back of the shed. Mal and Zoe traded the lead, advancing and covering. As Mal rounded the corner of a long, low building he encountered a fierce guard dog. It became aware of him about the same time he saw it, and it began to growl. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Simon's packet. Opening it, he tossed a biscuit directly to the dog, who snapped it up. Within seconds, the fast-acting narcotic had the dog flopping down into a drugged sleep. Then Mal saw the other dog, and the extra biscuit came in handy. When both dogs were down, Mal motioned Zoe forward.

They moved cautiously past the house that served as Nilsen's office. Seemed their caution wasn't entirely necessary, as no one seemed to be watching the house. The lights were blazing and, judging by the sounds issuing forth, some kind of party was going on. It wasn't a nice friendly sit-down-drink-tea kind of party either. Nilsen's parties were the kind where his customers and associates sampled the wares he trafficked, Mal suspected, and he shook off the crawly feeling he got imagining the unsavory acts taking place inside that house.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

混蛋 húndàn [bastard]

尘球 Chén Qíu [name of a world]

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

最的地狱 Zuì de dìyù [Bloody hell]

一切的 他妈的 该死 Yīqiè de tāmādē gāisǐ [Goddammit all]

你混球, 你无情的糊涂人 Nǐ húnqiú, nǐ wúqíng de hútu rén [You fink, you unfeeling lout]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Please review! I love to get comments on the stories._


	4. Chapter 4

Expectations, Part 4

The final part in the fourth story in series. Follows A Lion's Mouth, Adventures in Sitting, and Sparks Fly.

_An attempted rescue, a hasty departure, and a new development._

* * *

><p>One of Mal's specialized tools opened the lock on the warehouse door, and Mal and Zoe wasted no time. They quickly and systematically went through the rows of spaceship parts stored in the dimly lit building. There were only two nav sats, and they loaded them into their bags, and moved back to the door. Mal had edged the warehouse door open a crack when the back door of the house was flung open, and a man armed with a military-grade assault weapon exited, passing in front of the warehouse on his way to another building. Mal waited for him to pass. He stopped at a building right opposite the warehouse, and as he opened the door, Mal caught a view of a disturbing sight. "It's a slave pen," he hissed at Zoe. The man had shut the door behind him, and the silence of the night was invaded by cries and moans. They heard a shout and a crack like the blow of a blunt weapon. Then the man emerged from the building dragging a woman with him.<p>

"Shut up, whore," he growled at her. She struggled in his grip, but without hope. "You'll clean up pretty. Boss is gonna like you. So will I."

Mal tensed, ready to spring out to the rescue. Zoe put her hand on his arm and signaled _No_. "I could take him," he hissed. Zoe shook her head, and drew his attention back to the house, where another armed man stood on the stoop.

"Hey, 混球 húnqiú, don't take all night," the man on the stoop called. "The boys are gettin' impatient."

"去你的 二百五 Qùnǐde èrbǎiwǔ," said the first man. "I'm comin' fast as I can."

"Boss won't like it if you have her first."

"闭嘴 Bìzuǐ."

By this time, he had dragged the woman into the house. The door slammed shut behind them. Mal was out of the warehouse in a flash, carrying the heavy bag in his left hand, weapon at the ready in his right. Zoe followed with her bag, covering his back. Mal tried the door of the slave pen. It was locked, but he made short work of it with the same tool that he'd used to open the warehouse. Mal pulled the handle out, and opened the door with caution. The room was full of ragged people, men and women, sitting on a dirt floor and looking utterly defeated. They were unshackled, and there were no guards. The people regarded him with a mixture of fear and hostility. He was armed and looked dangerous.

Mal addressed the people in his sergeant voice. "Nobody make a sound. The dogs are asleep and the perimeter barrier's down. You're to move out, silently, in small groups. Go building to building, stick to cover. Once you're outta the compound, split up, and get as far away as you can. I can't guarantee we took all the sentries down."

No one moved.

He spoke again. "You're free, people. Free. Get outta here." Still no one made a move. He repeated the entire message in Chinese, but it was as if they were frozen. He and Zoe couldn't hang around here all night.

Mal and Zoe moved out the door. They beat a retreat the same way they had come into the compound. Still none of those people were moving. Mal and Zoe were about two buildings away when suddenly many things happened at once.

The people poured out of the slave pen in a throng, making a hell of a noise. A few had the presence of mind to take Mal's advice, and slipped off behind the other buildings, but most of them stayed in the grassy yard in front of the warehouse. Their noise attracted the attention of Nilsen's people in the house. Armed goons poured outside. Mal and Zoe didn't see what happened, but could take a guess, as they heard lots of shouting and a fair amount of weapons fire.

Mal and Zoe ran from cover to cover, their heavy bags beating against their sides and weapons at the ready. They passed the sleeping dogs, and were nearly to the perimeter barrier, but the noise, yelling, and weapons fire had attracted the attention of a few more sentries they had not taken down before. As Mal rounded the corner of a building, he ran straight into a sentry, who was luckily taken as much by surprise as he was. Mal dropped the bag and disarmed the sentry. Reluctant to signal his location to others by firing a weapon, Mal attacked the sentry with his fists. The man was a trained fighter, and Mal took a punch in the eye and some blows to the face before he managed to give a knockout blow. He spat out some blood. 混蛋 Húndàn had given him a split lip, too. Zoe continued her retreat with her bag, and encountered another sentry. The man had his weapon at the ready, and he attempted to shoot her point blank. Swinging her bag, Zoe knocked the barrel of the gun off target, and the shot went wide. Dropping the bag, she attacked him. Mal came up and together they finished him off, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Mindful of the shot that was fired, they picked up the bags and high tailed it. Hopefully the shot would pass unnoticed in the ruckus down by the house.

. . .

Mal and Zoe jogged along, putting the distance between themselves and Nilsen's compound.

"Sir, that was a hare-brained idea, trying to rescue all those people."

"Thanks for the observation, Zoe."

"Noble, but hare-brained. Made us a few more enemies here tonight."

"Adding them to my collection. C'mon Zoe, there's quite a few planets where I still have no enemies."

"Yes, and most of them are uninhabited."

. . .

They arrived back at Serenity just before daybreak. Neumann, who had slept in the passenger dorm, was awakened by the sound of the cargo bay doors opening and crawled out of bed in his yukata to investigate the commotion. His jaw dropped as he took in the sight of the Captain and first mate. Their clothing was torn and dirty and they carried bulging loot bags in their bruised and bloody knuckles. The captain sported a split lip and a blooming black eye, and both of them had blood on their shirts. Where the 地狱 dìyù had they just come from? If he didn't know better he'd say they'd just been out stealing—everything about their appearance screamed "thug" and "thief." _Did_ he know better?

"Kaylee!" the Captain shouted. "Where's Kaylee?"

Kaylee emerged from behind Neumann wearing one of Simon's shirts. Mal and Zoe set down the bags. Zoe set about opening her bag to reveal the nav sat inside.

Kaylee was all concern. "Cap'n! Zoe! What happened? Are you alright?"

" 'S fine," Mal said, briskly. "Got you some nav sats. Get up on top of the boat and install them quick as you can. We fly at 0630, first civilized hour we can leave this rock without arousing suspicion. Where's Simon?"

Zoe opened the other bag, and Kaylee helped her unload the nav sats. Zoe straightened up and followed Mal as he headed toward the infirmary. Simon emerged from his bunk bare-chested, wearing only his sleep pants. Mal passed Neumann, whose mouth was still wide open, and looked him in the eye. "You must be Holden's supercargo," he said without warmth. "Welcome aboard. Zoe!" he called, and strode off to the infirmary.

. . .

Mal, Zoe, and Simon converged in the infirmary.

"Doc, I want you to check out Zoe, first thing, make sure she's alright."

Simon obeyed the Captain's orders, but Zoe brushed him aside. "I'm fine, not a scratch. But the Captain needs his head examined."

Mal shot her a sharp look. He couldn't reasonably object, since his face sported some obvious injuries. He gave a hint of a smile. _Two marks, Zoe_, his glance said. It was a long-running game they played. Simon turned to Mal and began cleansing his wounds.

. . .

Serenity took off without incident in the early morning light. They broke out of atmo, leaving 尘球 Chén Qíu far behind. After setting the course and autopilot, River joined the rest of the crew at the breakfast table, slipping happily into a seat beside Ip Neumann. The Captain had gone all-out, authorizing the expenditure of their hard-earned platinum on fresh fruits and vegetables, fresh bread and baked goods, milk, cream, and real eggs, luxuries that were rarely seen aboard Serenity. The crew was thoroughly enjoying the feast, and the mood was celebratory. Except Neumann, who sat in silent shock, wondering just what kind of crew he had agreed to ship out with.

Neumann looked round the breakfast table. Who were these people? Was it all in a day's work to bring stolen property aboard and make a quick getaway? What had he gotten himself into?

"Help yourself, Mr Newman," Mal said, pleased with himself for remembering the new supercargo's name. "Not often we have fresh food like this aboard ship." He gave the man a welcoming smile.

_Noy-man, _not_ Newman_, Neumann automatically corrected, but he didn't dare speak aloud. Most enigmatic of all was the Captain, sitting at the head of the table, Neumann thought. He had seen the man three times, and it was as if he had seen three completely different people. He was having trouble reconciling them. His first impression of the man, when he first saw him at Holden Brothers' office, was of a competent professional who had just successfully weathered a challenging crisis as ship's captain. Later, he saw the well-dressed Captain in company with a Registered Companion. Neumann figured that the Captain must be wealthier, and of higher social standing, than he had guessed. His third encounter with the Captain had him completely flabbergasted. For the Captain had turned up at dawn, apparently having committed theft, and ordered a quick getaway.

The supercargo remained silent, and was regarding him with an odd expression on his face. Aw, hell, thought Mal, this was why he didn't care to take on passengers. There was always something. He seemed to be a magnet for attracting terribly strange folk. The supercargo was staring at his face. He began to get a crawly feeling on the back of his neck. A Fed agent? A spy? Then the light of reason struck him. _Of course. __糟糕 __Zāogāo__. I must look like hell. Probably scaring him senseless with all them bruises. Probably looks even worse when I smile._ Mal broke eye contact and applied himself to his breakfast.

Neumann carefully watched the Captain. He looked like hell, with a black eye blooming into full color and a split lip, his face swollen and bruised despite the doctor's patches and ointment. He'd been up all night. Still, he seemed to be in a great mood, laughing along with the rest of the crew, clearly enjoying the fresh foods and cream in his coffee. Which was the real man—the thief, the rich man, the professional? The man clearly had the confidence of Jack Holden, but why? And had he really been to Miranda? Neumann had been on fire to talk to the Captain about Miranda. Now he wasn't even sure how to begin to talk to him about anything.

"Would you like some cantaloupe, Mr Newman?" Inara asked him. He was seated on her right, and she turned away from the spectacle of Mal with his poor bruised face to welcome the newcomer. "We haven't been properly introduced. I am Inara." She held out her hand and smiled, the courteous Companion smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

The Companion had perfect manners, as he expected. She acted as if the sight of the Captain beaten black and blue in the face were nothing extraordinary. Neumann was puzzled. Was she aboard simply because the Captain had engaged her services? Or was she a part of the crew? She certainly seemed at home, but he supposed that looking at ease was one of a Companion's professional skills. It was clear that she and the Captain were glad to see one another. Was that professional, too, on her part? What had she been doing while the Captain was out thieving until dawn?

"Reach me one of them bread rolls, willya, Inara?" Jayne called, stuffing a large piece of fruit into his mouth and chewing as he spoke. Jayne hadn't waited for an invitation to take advantage of the fresh food, and was on his third helping. "Eats better than them choice combustibles, don't it?" Jayne said around a mouthful of bread.

"Choice _comestibles_," Simon corrected in an automatic response.

"Whatever," Jayne shrugged at the Doc. He didn't know why the Doc called them protein packets combustibles, but he liked the name. Prolly 'cause when the Doc cooked, he usually set the stuff on fire—all his learning and he still didn't know one end of a stove from another. Shrugging again, Jayne poured an extra dollop of cream into his coffee.

The large man called Jayne was clearly the muscle of the crew. Neumann had no reason to think ill of him, although clearly sensitivity to others' feelings was not his strong suit.

"Don't take all the cream, Jayne. Leave some for the strawberries," Kaylee admonished.

"You're just sayin' that 'cause you want to keep it all for yourself," Jayne countered. "Make your bottom all fat and round. You know, there's worlds where all the men like women's bottoms to be fat," he added with a leer.

Okay, maybe he did think ill of Jayne. It wasn't a nice thing to do, talking that way to a sweet girl like Kaylee. The pretty mechanic was so friendly, welcoming, and kind. The first member of Serenity's crew he'd properly met, and he had felt then that if she were a representative of the kind of people who lived on this ship, then he couldn't have found a better berth. Unfortunately, she seemed to be more the exception than the rule.

"Ip, would you like some strawberries and cream?" Kaylee smiled sweetly at him across the table.

What was a girl like her doing on a ship like this? Then again, what was _he_ doing on a ship like this? He felt the heat of someone's glare, and looked away from Kaylee to meet the eyes of the doctor, which were focused on him with hostile intensity. Now here was another enigma, he thought, giving the doctor a half-smile of acknowledgement and breaking eye contact. The doctor was Core-bred and well-educated, that much was clear from his first words. What an educated man like him was doing on a boat like this…. For reasons Neumann couldn't fathom, the doctor seemed to have taken a dislike to him. He had no idea why, he'd barely exchanged more than a few words with the man. The doctor seemed to have a particular connection with the pilot, and spent a lot of his time gazing intently at her across the table. Neumann wondered if perhaps they were a couple.

River enjoyed being next to Ip Neumann. Here was a fresh—and intelligent—mind for her to meet. And far from simple. Right now he was feeling confused. River understood. The people of Serenity were a confusing lot. They confused each other and they even confused themselves. Circles and clouds and webs, instead of straight lines. Only Jayne thought in straight lines, and he still got confused. Ip Neumann was a web thinker. Good method for a terraformologist. Make the connections between the disparate elements. Learned the web from his mentor. Tree method: solid trunk of knowledge, branch out. Web method: threads of knowledge, draw the connections, see the whole. Mushroom method: keep 'em in the dark, and pile on the 马屎 mǎ shǐ. River laughed out loud.

The pilot sat happily at his right side. She seemed very young. Neumann hadn't heard her say a word, yet she smiled at him as if she knew him already. It was a little disconcerting. Then she laughed. Had he missed something funny? There'd been lots of jolliness at this meal, inside jokes he didn't understand, for the most part. There was something unsettling in that girl's laugh.

Zoe, the first officer, was the only other person at the table who looked as discontented as Neumann felt. She struck Neumann as a right badass, probably dangerous. She'd been out thieving with the Captain, and didn't seem to have the Captain's knack for looking like a jolly pirate in the morning. Neumann had seen her boss Jayne around in a very unreasonable way. She looked decidedly unhappy…sick, actually.

"I don't feel—'scuse me." Zoe suddenly bolted from the table, and the crew was treated to the sounds of vomiting from the nearby head. Everybody exchanged looks of surprise, except Mal, who looked thoughtful. He flashed a look at Inara. She seemed to have an idea of what was up with Zoe.

"Guess Zoe's not feelin' so good," Jayne said into the silence, and continued stuffing his face. "What?" He glared around the table. "Throw me a few of them sugar cookies, will ya, Doc?"

"Don't look now," River said, drawing everyone's attention, "but Simon's about to toss his cookies."

Zoe returned to the table shortly, in a much better mood. Mal was beginning to see a pattern. "You alright?" Mal asked Zoe quietly as she passed by on the way back to her seat.

"Yes, sir."

"Really?"

"Just fine, sir. And how's your head?"

. . .

Zoe declined Inara's offer of tea and preferred to remain standing, but at least she did not seem anxious to leave Inara's shuttle, despite the sensitive nature of their discussion.

"Don't you think it's possible?" Inara asked.

"Wash is _dead_, Inara, how could it be possible?"

"I've seen other women with the same symptoms."

"Other women with living husbands?" Zoe shot back, angrily. Anger was her defense, because her only other option was crying, and she didn't want to do that. "Or did you think I've already taken up with another…"

"I'm sorry, Zoe, I don't mean to imply anything of the sort."

"Besides, Wash was using contraceptives. He wasn't quite ready for fatherhood. Kept saying he wanted to wait for our life to get more settled." Now she really was about to cry, despite her efforts.

Inara's heart went out to Zoe. Had Zoe been a different sort of woman, Inara would have hugged her. "What about you?" she asked, gently.

"I was telling him for the last three years that it was time we started a family," Zoe stated with some force, re-asserting her control over herself.

"I mean, what about contraceptives? Were you using them?"

"Hell no. I wanted a family."

"You know, at the Academy, we had a term for women who relied entirely on the men to take care of birth control: Mothers."

. . .

Inara hadn't fussed too much about his face, and for that he was grateful. He knew he still looked pretty dreadful. The bruises and split lip interfered with the kissing, but Inara had managed it all beautifully. She just focused her attentions…elsewhere. Mal smiled in recollection. He knew the smile on top of the bruises made him look especially hideous—new supercargo jumped a mile high every time he came upon him suddenly and flashed a greeting, which is why he did it as often as he could. Simon's ointment and patches were working, and most of the bruises were fading. The black eye felt better, but had turned a spectacular shade of purple and green. Mal exited the shuttle, buttoning his shirt, and ran right into Zoe.

"Oh, hello, Zoe," he said with a guilty start. "I was, uh, just checking something, Inara asked—"

"It's alright, sir. Everybody knows."

"Everybody knows?"

"Except maybe Neumann. They all wish you joy—"

"Joy—" Mal babbled.

"And they hope you won't screw it up. You and Inara have been having lovers' quarrels for goin' on three years now. It's about time you put some substance behind the first of those two words." She walked off, leaving him with no reply.

. . .

Zoe sat on the exam table in the infirmary. The door was closed and the privacy screens were in place. Simon ran a test sample through his portable diagnostic device. The machine beeped and Simon checked the result. He looked up with a bit of a smile, and approached Zoe. "Congratulations."

Zoe looked at him, both surprised and not surprised at the same time.

"You're nearly twelve weeks along. You really weren't sure?"

"No, I…missed my cycle, of course, but I figured it was stress. It's happened before, during the war."

Simon automatically back-calculated. The baby had to have been conceived around the time of their visit—their _first_ visit—to Haven, right after River had been triggered at the Maidenhead Bar. He gave Zoe a kind smile. "Wash's legacy." He paused for a moment of silence, looking down, honoring Wash's memory. "Would you like me to do a scan? You'll be able to see the heart beat."

Zoe nodded. Simon left the infirmary to get the equipment. She patted her belly and smiled a little contented smile—her first genuine smile since Miranda. Her other hand went to her shoulder—she was sure she felt it. Wash resting his hand lovingly on her shoulder, caressing her hand, smiling with love and pride. "Hello, baby," she whispered.

. . .

.

.

.

_fin_

glossary

混球 húnqiú [asshole, jerk]

去你的 二百五 Qùnǐde èrbǎiwǔ [Go to hell, you idiot (lit. 'go to your' + 'two hundred five' What can I say? It's an idiomatic expression.)]

闭嘴 Bìzuǐ [Shut up]

混蛋 Húndàn [Bastard]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

尘球 Chén Qíu [name of a world]

糟糕 Zāogāo [Crap]

马屎 mǎ shǐ [horse shit]

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><p><em>AN: Please leave a comment or review! Thanks for reading._


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